Figment
by ShadowSpires
Summary: Tim is having a Bad Day. Darker take on a prompt for the Trope: Kissing to Save the Day. Or not, in this case. Dick/Tim.


Tim is having a bad day.

Understatement.

Tim is having a bad week.

Tim is having one of those wretchedly horrible weeks he thought he left behind in that dark year when most of his friends were dead, and so were both of the people he had considered Father.

He hasn't slept in too long, the nightmares dragging at him. He's starting to see things. Auditory and visual hallucinations are a symptom of extreme sleep deprivation, he knows, but it doesn't stop his senses from telling him things are there, even when they really are not.

He's starting to loose his grasp on reality. Are the last few months real? Did he really get almost everyone back, or are they just another lie conjured by his faltering senses?

He honestly doesn't know, anymore.

And still he cannot sleep.

He's grounded himself from the streets two nights ago. He can't remember what excuse he gave Bruce. He isn't answering his phone, or his com, can't be sure their ringing is real. Last time he answered his phone he spent 20 minutes talking to his father -dead, _dead_, he had seen it, he _knew it_, and yet, _and yet_- before his father's voice resolved itself into the steady beep of a line off the hook, as it had been for the last 19 minutes.  
It had never rung in the first place. All in his head, all in his head.

_Rap tap tap._

There is a knocking at the door.

There might be a knocking at the door.

He thinks there is a knocking at the door?

Probably not.

He burrows tighter into the nest of blankets. He's not sure if the biting cold is real, but the blankets make it better, so perhaps it is.

"Tim?" Dick's voice echoes muffled through the wood of the door.

Now he knows he's just imagining it. Dick was away, busy with -

_-the Titans._

_-Bludhaven._

_-New York._

_-Kory._

_-Babs._

_-Roy._

-Gotham and his new Robin. He didn't have time for Tim, didn't want to work with him, didn't want him as his Robin.

"Tim, I know you're in there. Babs said you haven't left in three days. Are you okay?"

There was no point in answering. Dick wasn't actually there.

He ignored the further knocking. The sounds of his security being disabled and his lock being picked. Not real, not real.

"Timmy? It's freezing in here!"

Footsteps approached the bed. Not real. Tim didn't look up. He kept his head buried in blankets and tried to will himself to sleep. At least in his sleep he couldn't feel himself slowly loosing his mind.

"Tim?"

The blanket is tugged from around his head, and Not-Dick's shocked intake of breath proceeded burning hands against his face, his cheek and his forehead, by only moments.

Tim stared. He didn't think he was so far gone he was hallucinating physical touch now.

"Tim! You look terrible! Are you sick? What's wrong? Why didn't you go to the doctor, or call and let us know? I was worried!"

"You're not here." Tim croaked out. "Too busy. Just my imagination."

Not-Dick recoiled for a moment. Whether from the ruined sound of his voice, or the words, Tim didn't know. Didn't care. Wasn't really his brother. Just a piece of his imagination. He'd take this over Kon, hovering in front of him, uniform tattered, asking why he couldn't save him.

Steph asking if he had ever loved her at all.

His father, blaming him for his death.

Bruce telling him he wasn't a good soldier.

"Tim, what? Of course I'm here! I'm never too busy for you, little brother. Let me take you back to the manor. You're sick."

"Not brother." It didn't matter what he said to this shade of his brother, this figment. "You don't want me. Tossed me aside, not good enough, never good enough. I'm always the Replacement."

Not-Dick's hands were tight, bruising on his arms.

"No, Tim-!"

Tim interrupted him. What was the point in hallucination, if you couldn't tell them what you thought? He was just going to find himself talking to empty air in a few minutes, anyway.

"You never see me, not really. Never have. I've always been 'little brother,' but only because I wasn't 'Little Wing.' Did you ever tell Jason how much you missed him? He might appreciate it. It might get him to stop trying to stab me, if he knew that you all knew I was just a replacement too. Never as good."

Not-Dick, made a sound like Jason had just stabbed _him_.

"I've loved you forever, you know?" Tim asked Not-Dick, half because he had never actually said the words aloud, and half because he wanted to see what his subconscious saw as Dick's most likely reaction. This was actually a really interesting thought-experiment, when he thought about it. If he knew that the hallucination wasn't real, it was an interesting insight into the way his subconscious viewed the situation. …He didn't want to think about what that meant as far as the others were concerned.

"From the first time I saw you, from before I even knew what it meant." He meant to stop there, assess his hallucination's reaction, but his words ran away from him. "You were so warm, and so bright, and you _hugged_ me, and I think you were the first person to ever do that. I love it when you do that, even when it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. You never hug me anymore. Too busy with Gotham, and Damian. Is he a better brother? Is that why you don't have time for me anymore? Am I a bad brother? If you just tell me, I can fix it. I can be anything you need me to be-"

Warm lips pressed against his cold ones, cutting him off; desperation making the kiss harsh. Not-Dick's tears laced the kiss with salt. It was both nothing like he had ever expected, and the fulfillment of every dream since childhood.

Warm. Solid. Cool when those lips pulled away again, wild, tear filled blue eyes inches from his own, flicking desperately across his face, mouth moving in words that were nothing but a buzz in Tim's ears.

Tears leaked from eyes that didn't truly have the moisture to spare. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to drink, but Dick's image wavers anyway as his eyes fill.

He couldn't believe that his mind could be so cruel to him, to give him everything he had wanted, when he knows it is not real.

It is, finally, too much. He can only feel relief as the blackness oozes in at the edges of his vision. He does not feel the warm hands the catch him and ease him back onto the mattress, or hear the frantic voice ordering Babs to get him an ambulance, stat.

"Tim? Tim! Wake up, please wake up! I love you too, I love you, I love you, don't do this to me!"

TBC?


End file.
